


Circles

by Thelonelycoast



Series: All the Little Lights series [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Big Brothers, Birthday, Bonding, Brothers, F/M, Family, Fiction, Fluff, Growing Up Together, Happy Ending, Incest, Introspection, Love, M/M, POV Third Person, Paris - Freeform, Siblings, Slash, Travel, Underage - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, m/m - Freeform, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelonelycoast/pseuds/Thelonelycoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>On rainy days, Anne built Harry and Louis blanket forts in the family room and they’d spend hours inside, talking and laughing and reading stacks of books by torchlight. In the darkness, their silhouettes were stitched to the sheets of the brightly-lit tent like cameos in a golden locket. Part of her wished she could keep them that way forever, wished they would be children forever, their sun-browned skin smelling of salt, their little arms tight around her neck as they pulled her into a hug.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circles

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song "Circles" by Passenger - as such, all lyrics within belong to Mike Rosenberg of Passenger. 
> 
> WARNING: This fic is as fluffy as cotton-candy and may cause cavities.
> 
> As usual, comments are welcome and lovely and I love all you beautiful people for reading. x

**Circles**

Anne worried. It was what mothers did, she knew - worried every second their children were out of sight - growing up and away from them, living out those private, defining moments of childhood just out of view. But her worries weren’t that her boys would get hurt or disappointed, ground down under the relentless, crushing bootheel of days (although she worried about that too). No, her worries were of a different sort.

At first, she’d been happy the boys got on so well - she knew it had been hard on Harry when his dad left and again when she started seeing Mark a year later, and she knew it had been hard for Louis to accept her only a year after his mum passed. But whatever their feelings were about having new grown-ups in their lives, they absolutely adored one another. From the very first.

Despite their two year age gap, Harry and Louis were quickly inseparable. They shared a bedroom and a toy-chest and a clothes closet (Harry swimming in Louis’ jumpers, the bow of his prominent collar bone jutting out where the neck slid off his thin shoulders) and even seemed to share a secret language all their own. Sometimes, when Anne turned away from the stove, she’d find the two of them sitting quietly across from one another at the table, their eyes locked in an intense stare, and even though they were absolutely silent, she could swear they were talking. It gave her the willies. The first time she’d seen it she’d spilled pancake batter all across the floor in surprise. Both boys had quickly scrabbled to help clean the mess, and she’d thought, _well now I’m just being silly, aren’t I?_ But then, it happened again and again and she didn’t feel so silly anymore.

It was easy when they were younger, well, not _easy_ , but _easier_. The boys sliding around on the hardwood floors in their socks and Spiderman pants, as she made supper, Harry trotting along at Louis’ heels like a loyal dog. They took swimming lessons in the summer and came home smelling of chlorine and hanging off her legs as she fixed their afternoon tea, warm and clingy and talkative. Harry loved animals and she took them to the zoo and the aquarium, where she bought them matching stuffed penguins. Harry left his on the train a few weeks later and cried and cried until Louis convinced him they could share.

On rainy days, Anne built Harry and Louis blanket forts in the family room and they’d spend hours inside, talking and laughing and reading stacks of books by torchlight. In the darkness, their silhouettes were stitched to the sheets of the brightly-lit tent like cameos in a golden locket. Part of her wished she could keep them that way forever, wished they would be children forever, their sun-browned skin smelling of salt, their little arms tight around her neck as they pulled her into a hug.

Louis’ favorite book was Peter Pan and he always begged her to read it to them at bedtime, Harry snuggling up under Louis’ armpit as she read.

_“[Wendy] also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly._

_"Surely you know what a kiss is?" she asked, aghast._

_"I shall know when you give it to me," he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble._

One day, when Anne was sewing a hole in Harry’s dungarees, Louis had come up and started rummaging through her sewing kit.

“Be careful. There are pins in there, love.” Anne set her sewing down, pulling Louis up into her lap. He smelled of grass and chocolate and there was a plaster over one of his chubby knees. Harry had a matching one, even though he didn’t have a boo boo because Louis had one so he’d wanted one too. “What are you looking for?”

“A thimble.”

“What do you need a thimble for?” she asked, tucking her chin into the small, warm crook of Louis’ shoulder.

“For Harry,” Louis said seriously, pulling his thumb from his mouth. “Like Wendy gave to Peter.”

Anne put a silver thimble in his hand and patted his bottom. “Off with ya, ya cheeky monkey.”

A few hours later, she was standing outside their tent, watching them sleep and sipping a glass of wine, when Mark came up behind her, kissing her neck. “You know, I never knew what I was missing until Lou and I had you and Harry,” he whispered into her hair

She smiled, leaning back over her shoulder to kiss him. “You complete us in ways I never could have anticipated,” Mark said, trailing his fingers down her arm.

Anne set her wine down on the coffee table, turning so Mark could pull her into a kiss. “Shall we bring them up to bed then?” she murmured against his mouth suggestively.

He grinned at her, catching her drift. It wasn’t often that they got a moment alone, not with two rambunctious boys running about. Mark picked up Harry, while Anne picked up Louis and they began the long, familiar climb up the stairs to Harry and Louis’ room. 

“What’s this?” Mark asked, prying the thimble from Harry’s clenched fist as he tucked him into bed.

“Louis gave it to him,” Anne said, trying to keep her voice light as she set the thimble carefully on Harry’s bedside table. They kissed the boys goodnight and Anne and Mark lingered in their doorway a moment longer, watching them sleep.

“Sometimes, I wonder what will become of them -” Anne said softly.

“They’ll be just fine,” Mark insisted as he turned off the light, leaving the door open a crack. “They have each other.” Anne’s throat tightened around the words she didn’t say - _“that’s what I’m worried about.”_

Harry carried the thimble with him for weeks, until fearing a repeat of the penguin incident, Anne had it put onto a chain for him to wear so he wouldn’t lose it. 

She had no way of knowing then that Harry would wear it for the rest of his life.

***

After his father left, Harry had grown a bit clingy. He’d throw tantrums when Anne dropped him at Nursery School and if she was even a minute late picking him up, she’d find him on the front steps of the schoolhouse, sobbing his heart out into his poor teacher’s blouse. Harry wanted to sit on Anne's lap all the time - while they were eating supper or while she was marking her students’ papers in the lamplight at her desk after a long day teaching or while she was relaxing with a cup of tea. He’d sit outside the door of her bathroom when she showered to wait for her to get out and then huddle beneath her dressing table, running toy cars over her feet as she put on her makeup and fixed her hair. She was constantly tripping over him as he was always underfoot.

He had nightmares too - woke up in the middle of the night screaming, and crawled into her bed more often than not - her presence the only thing that would get him to sleep. During the day, Harry would look for Anne in the house and if he couldn’t find her, he’d burst into tears and she’d come upon him, collapsed and crying on the floor of the kitchen or the living room. She’d draw him up into her arms as he sobbed himself tired, “I thought you’d left,” he’d say, hiccuping, long glistening strands of spit and tears running down his cheeks and chin. 

And Anne would rub circles into his back and say, “I could never, chick.” That was her name for him - because he was all soft fluffy hair and too big eyes - her little chick.

Eventually, Harry got over his clingy phase, helped along by a new brother and a new dad and a new school and new, bigger house with a yard for exploring. But there was one day, when he was six that he came in with that lost, desperate look on his face. 

“What is it chick?” Anne asked as he climbed up into her lap, smelling of milk and graham crackers.

“Will Louis and I live together forever?” Harry asked.

“Well, when you’re all grown-up, you can go and live on your own. And have your own house with your own things. Just like daddy and I have.”

“But will Louis be there?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Well, maybe you’ll meet someone you want to marry by then and you’ll want to live with them instead.”

Harry snuggled into Anne’s chest. “Can’t I marry Louis?”

Anne laughed, but was cut short by Harry’s frown. “He’s your brother, love. Brothers they don’t, they _can’t_ do that.” Harry was quiet for a long, long time. Anne nearly thought he was asleep when he shifted in her lap.

“Will Louis leave me like dad?”

“He’ll always be your brother and I’ll always be your mum, okay? You can’t get rid of us, no matter how hard you try. You’re ours.”

Harry smiled, relaxing into her. “And you and Louis are mine.”

Anne ran her fingers through his hair, “that’s right. For always and forever, chick.”

***

Nighttime was a struggle. The boys had their own beds and both Anne and Mark insisted they use them, but when Anne came to check on them at night, she’d often find Louis had crawled into Harry’s or Harry into Louis’ and she didn’t have the heart to separate them. They slept on top of each other, like puppies, and in the early days, she was only happy, happy that they had found each other, happy that she and Mark had lucked out with two perfect lads as these.

When Harry broke his arm falling out of a tree one autumn day, Louis had whined that his arm hurt too so Anne fashioned him a sling out of a teatowel and they laid in bed together all weekend watching cartoons and reading comics and eating their meals off of tea-trays.

Mark tried to encourage them to do different activities, to make other friends outside each other. And in some instances, it even worked, for a time, although not the way they’d hoped. In year four, Mark managed to get Louis to join the footie team and Louis surprised them all by being quite good. But nothing could discourage the boys’ closeness and Harry sat in the stands or stood on the sidelines of every game, with glittery signs he’d made with marker-pens, yelling the loudest of anyone.

“That’s my brother,” he’d say proudly to anyone who would listen. “Number 17. That one’s mine.”

 _Mine._ The word sat in Anne’s gut like an anchor. She was happy that Harry was able to experience having a brother, as she’d not planned on having any more kids (she hadn’t even planned on having the _one_ \- Harry had been an accident when she was a teenager.) But it was clear to anyone who could see that they were _more_ than brothers. 

They were fiercely possessive of one another and their unusual relationship caused them both problems in school. Louis got in more than his fair share of playground scuffles defending Harry, who was a bit of a shrimp, and Harry had such difficulty socializing with the kids in his grade that his teacher had suggested to Anne that he might have a mild form of autism. Anne had been furious over that one - Harry was incredibly bright and intelligent and sensitive and not the least bit impaired. He was however, cripplingly shy around people that weren’t his mum or dad or Louis. 

When Anne realized Harry had a knack for drawing, she’d signed him up for art classes at the Community Center, where his lovely, charismatic teacher, Mr. Tepper, slowly drew him out of his shell and Harry was finally able to express himself, even if it was just on paper. Louis entered Harry into a few art contests without his knowledge and suddenly, Harry was winning prizes. Nestled on the fire-place among Louis’ footie trophies and pictures of the two boys with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, were now several framed plaques with Harry’s name on them.

Anne couldn’t have been more proud or more frightened for them.

***

The boys insisted on bathing together, which at five and seven had been sweet - lots of splashing and spirited games with the bath toys and drawing on each other’s skin with soap crayons, but now at nine and eleven it all seemed a bit improper. Louis was getting a bit of fuzz _down there_ for Chrissakes. 

Once, Anne had left them in the bath to answer a telephone call and come back to find Louis sitting on the edge of the tub and Harry with his face next to Louis’ privates, examining the downy sprinkle of hair on his tight, grape-sized balls with interest. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Louis hadn’t had an erection, a thin small thing the size of a man’s finger and so dangerously, horribly close to Harry’s flushed face, his open mouth. Louis had a bit of skin there, unlike Harry, who’d been circumcised as a baby, and as she looked on in horror, he’d pulled back the skin to reveal the little pink helmet beneath as Harry watched, transfixed.

She’d overreacted then - screaming and carrying on and yanking them both wet and shivering from the tub. She still remembered the horrified look on Harry’s face; he was a good boy and she _never_ yelled at him beyond the occasional scolding. Harry had looked, well, he’d looked _frightened_ of her. Even more so when Louis began crying.

Anne managed to get Harry off to his room and pulled Louis into her bedroom and sat him down on the edge of floral bedspread, cold and shaking in his towel, big fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He was still the same Louis he’d always been, he was still her _son_ , but Anne couldn’t stop seeing his little erection in her mind, couldn’t stop seeing Harry’s face as he looked on.

“Am I in trouble?” Louis asked, his lip quivering.

Anne sighed, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “No, you’re not in trouble.”

“May I finish then? I’ve got some shampoo in my eye,” Louis whined, crinkling his nose.

“Just a minute. Louis, I think maybe it’s time you started showering... _on your own_.” She tried to put as much emphasis as she could on those last three words, so that there would be no mistaking what she was asking him.

“But we didn’t do anything,” Louis wailed. “Harry just wanted a look.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I overreacted. He’s just...he’s my _baby_.”

Louis scowled, crossing his arms and looking like a very wet, very aggravated cat. “I wouldn’t _hurt_ him. I would _never_ hurt him.” Anne realized she was shaking as she forced herself to sit down on the bed beside Louis. She hadn’t had a cigarette since before she’d gotten pregnant with Harry, but suddenly wanted for nothing more.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, drawing him into a hug. She kissed the top of his head, which smelled strongly of soap and Harry, and she didn’t even scold him when he slipped his thumb into his mouth, in that old habit she and Mark were constantly trying to break him of. Louis had barely sucked his thumb at all since he’d moved in with them and she knew it was because he wasn’t frightened anymore, wasn’t frightened because he had Harry. “And you’re my baby too. I just...I took a fright. I love you very much, Louis. You and Harry both, okay? No matter what.”

Louis sniffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - It just gets that way sometimes. Stiff like that.”

Anne blushed. “And that’s completely normal. I’m sorry if I made it seem any different. Maybe you and dad can have a chat about it later?”

“And Harry too?”

Anne bit her lip. “Harry’s not...he’s not old enough for that talk yet.”

“But he gets them too. ‘Specially in the morning when he’s got to wee.” Anne’s face burned, thinking of her Harry like that, but also thinking of Louis _noticing_.

“It just...it means something different when you’re older. You and your dad can sort it out after supper. Would you like pancakes for dinner?” Louis’ face lit up, their conversation seemingly forgotten. But Anne didn’t forget. She couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. And judging by how quiet Harry was at dinner, neither could he.

***

The first time Anne caught them kissing Harry was twelve and Louis fourteen. They’d been out in the yard catching fireflies all evening and when she went to call them in, she found the two of them on the porch swing. Harry’s hand was gripping the chain and Louis’ was cupping Harry’s cheek as their mouths moved into each other’s. Anne let the screen door slam behind her in surprise and both boys startled apart to opposite sides of the swing.

“Bedtime boys,” she managed to say, looking down at the floorboards, at anything that wasn’t their flushed guilty faces, their sweaty, matted fringe, the looseness of their bodies which suggested they’d been at it for a while.

She thought for hours of what she might say to Mark, how she’d bring up her worries about them, but in the end she’d said nothing. That night she’d slid in next to him in bed and he’d folded her into his arms. She buried her face into his chest, wanting him to hide her, to make her smaller, to cover her with his skin. “All right, love?” he asked softly, reaching for the light.

“Please, don’t,” she pleaded, her voice trembling because she was afraid if he turned on the light he would see it in her eyes - the way she’d seen it in Harry and Louis’ eyes from the very start, even though she’d tried to deny it. _They’re just brothers_ , she’d told herself. _It’s natural for them to love each other this way._

“Anne, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

And God, she _felt_ like a leaf caught up in a powerful gale, being batted to and fro. This could destroy her marriage to Mark, could destroy her relationship with her son, could destroy her relationship with Louis, who she thought of as a son. If she tried to stop them, they would hate her, but if she didn’t, what _then_? What if Louis was...God forbid, _hurting_ Harry? But no, Anne didn’t believe that for a second. Louis would throw himself in front of a speeding train to keep Harry from ever feeling pain. And it certainly hadn’t looked like pain that Harry was feeling, on the porch bench, with his hand tangled in Louis’ hair, his body soft and his chin tilted trustingly up toward Louis.

“Will you love us all three no matter what?” Anne asked, gripping Mark a bit too tightly.

“What’s all this then? Should I be worried?”

“Please. I just need to hear you say it,” Anne said and her voice broke on the words.

“Of course. You’re not cheating...?”

“Oh God no,” she laughed. It was strange that she could imagine Harry and Louis were in love more easily than she could imagine herself ever being with another man. “But the _boys_...even if one of them turned out to be gay or wanted to be a woman or whatever, you’d still love them, right?”

“Of course I would.” Mark paused. “Has one of them...decided to be a woman?” Mark asked archly and Anne laughed into his chest, feeling the tension melt out of her.

“Not that I’m aware of. No. I just needed to hear you say you won’t stop loving us.”

Mark steadied Anne’s face in his hands. “Darling, I couldn’t if I tried.”

***

When Louis was old enough for his first formal dance, Anne took him to buy his first suit and cried a bit when he tried it on in the shop. “You look so grown up,” she sniffled into a kleenex. “Just like your dad.”

Louis straightened his lapels in the mirror, turning from side to side. “You think so?”

“Absolutely.” 

Harry sat slumped in a chair outside the dressing room, texting on his phone - he was always on that thing, talking to God knows who about God knows what. Anne wanted to discourage it, to ask him to be more present in what was going on around him, but it had taken him so long to make a single friend outside of Louis that she didn’t push it.

“How do I look, Hazza?” Louis asked, doing a spin.

Harry glanced up and his whole face transformed, into an expression of soft, reverential awe. “You look beautiful,” Harry sighed.

“Boys don’t look beautiful. They look handsome, right mum?” Louis asked, turning to Anne for backup.

“Of course. You look very handsome, Louis.”

Harry smirked, rising out of his slump and pocketing his phone. He sauntered over to Louis, standing behind him as Louis surveyed himself in the mirror. Harry rested his chin on Louis’ shoulder, their eyes meeting and locking in the mirror. “Still say you look beautiful,” he said softly, dreamily as a blush crept up Louis’ neck.

“Look who’s talking,” Louis said, a bit breathily and every muscle in Anne’s body tensed at the sound of Louis’ voice, thick with desire for her son. Anne hurried off to the counter, reminding herself all the while that Louis was going to the dance with a girl, a _girl_ , not a boy, and certainly not Harry, and there was nothing wrong or irregular with the way they looked at one another.

“That’ll be three hundred pounds,” the sales clerk said, in a voice way too chipper considering the sum.

Anne stared at her blankly for a moment, before blinking out of her trance and digging her credit card out from her purse. When she turned, just for a moment, she could see Harry and Louis’ sneakered feet beneath the line of the dressing room curtain. The curtain jerked and there was muffled laughter as Louis’ trousers hit the floor.

“Is that his date?” the sales clerk asked conspiratorially, nodding toward the curtain.

“I’m sorry?” She blushed. “No. God no. They’re...they’re brothers.” But the word felt all wrong in her mouth and she half-swore she’d said _lovers_ out loud and not brothers as she’d meant to.

“Well. What two handsome lads you’ve got then,” the clerk winked, handing her the receipt. 

“Yes. Yes I have.” Once their things were wrapped, Anne ran out of the shop as fast as she could and didn’t feel as if she could draw any air into her lungs until they’d put a safe distance between them and the shop.

“Everything all right mum?” Harry asked, the skin between his brows puckered in concern.

“It’s nothing...it’s...have either of you got a cigarette?”

Louis raised an eyebrow questioningly, but slipped a pack out of his jacket pocket nonetheless, handing one to her. “I’ll scold you for that later,” she said, as he lit it for her.

“All right if I have one now?” Anne nodded and they all stood on the corner, sharing a cigarette, as Anne came to terms with the fact that her boys were practically adults now.

***

When Louis’ big night finally arrived, Anne and Mark took a thousand, fawning embarrassing photos of Louis and Hannah on the stairs and on the living room couch and on the front lawn and getting into their limo. Harry refused to come out of his room.

Once Louis was gone, Harry trudged downstairs in a sagging pair of sweatpants and Louis’ footie jersey, Tomlinson 17 written across his shoulder blades, dragging his blankets and the pillows from his bed behind him. 

“Where are you going with all that?” Mark asked as Harry lumbered into the living room where he and Anne were watching TV.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” Harry grumbled.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Did you and Louis have a fight?”

Harry shrugged, flopping bonelessly onto the couch, mussing his hair forward to shield his eyes. His long legs hung over the armrest at one end of the couch and Anne marveled at how tall Harry had gotten in just the past year. He could no longer fit into Louis’ trousers and against his protests, she’d had to buy him some of his own. They still shared t-shirts and jumpers, but Louis’ clothes were tight across Harry’s chest and Harry’s clothes hung off of Louis - a reversal of when they’d been young and Harry had been the smaller one.

“We saved you some pizza, chick,” Anne said, reaching out to grasp Harry’s arm (the one that wasn’t holding Louis’ stuffed penguin).

“Not hungry,” Harry mumbled, but then changed his mind and ate four slices in a row directly out of the box, not pausing for air between. He then chugged a two-liter of Diet Coke at an alarmingly quick pace as Mark and Anne looked on with dual parts horror and admiration. When Harry let out an earth-shattering burp, Mark threw the remote at him.

“It’s time for your old man to get to bed. Make sure that brother of yours comes in at curfew.”

Harry grunted goodnight as Mark bent down to give his forehead a kiss. Mark rolled his eyes helplessly at Anne over Harry’s head, as if to say, _teenagers_. Anne bent down to give Harry a kiss of her own.

“Don’t stay up too late, sweetie,” she said, tousling his hair. But she knew from the fierce look in his eyes that Harry wouldn’t be sleeping at all.

Anne woke up some time later to the sound of music coming from downstairs. She drew on her robe and stumbled down the steps, blindly groping for the bannister in the dark. The boys were in the living room. Louis, backlit by the tv, was still in his suit, though his tie was undone and his hair was messy and he was holding a bottle of champagne in one hand, which he took occasional swigs from. Harry was still sprawled out on the couch, lying stiffly with his eyes resolutely fixed on the TV behind Louis, although no sound came from it. Louis rocked his hips from side to side lasciviously, drunkenly, nudging Harry on the couch with one socked foot, his dress shoes abandoned.

“Come on chick, dance with me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry snapped. Louis stumbled into a kneeling position and took Harry’s hand in his, forcing Harry’s eyes to his face. 

“Please, Harry Tomlinson, may I have this dance? I’ve waited all my life.”

“Don’t tease,” Harry pouted as Louis kissed his knuckles gently.

“Only in bed, I promise,” Louis said, his voice gone low and gravelly. Anne froze, goosebumps rising on the back of her neck as Louis pulled Harry to his feet, their bodies seemingly coming together of their own accord, until no seam of light could escape from between their pressed bodies.

Louis waltzed Harry playfully over to the stereo, where he flicked to the next track on the CD changer, the soft melodious sound of Passenger filling the living room as he led Harry into a slow dance.

_“It’s been years since we carved our names on a clocktower door before everything changed. We were big eyed boys with the salt on our skin and we’d throw our kites to the wind and they’d fly on and on and on and on...”_

Anne’s breath hitched in her throat as Louis drew Harry impossibly closer, burying his lips into Harry’s neck. “You’re going to kill me chick,” he groaned. He fisted the back of Harry’s shirt, gripping a handful of his own jersey. “Wearing this,” he growled low in his throat. Harry whimpered as Louis’ lips grazed over his earlobe, as Louis’ hands slipped under his shirt and sought out the smooth skin of Harry’s lower back. “You know you’ll always be my last dance. You and me forever, yeh?”

Harry’s head fell back, revealing the white line of his throat and the sparking glint of the thimble where it rested in the indent between his collarbones. Louis licked a line up Harry’s neck and jaw, ending up at his ear. Anne knew she should run, should go back up the stairs and into the waiting arms of her husband, but she was frozen to the spot. She’d never realized that part of her fear had not been that Louis and Harry were in love, but that no one would look at _her_ the way Harry looked at Louis, not Mark, not her ex-husband, not anyone. Because it was more than love, it was _transcendance_. Beneath the weight of Harry’s gaze, Louis was transformed and beneath the press of Louis’ hands, Harry was too. And in that moment, Anne couldn’t help thinking that Harry had been right. Louis _was_ beautiful. 

_“It’s been years since we whispered soft with the torch light on and the big light off. We were tired boys with the soap on our skin and we’d fall asleep to the wind and we’d dream on and on and on and on...”_

Harry’s hands slide down Louis’ back to cup the curve of his arse and then suddenly, they were kissing. Her fourteen year old son and her sixteen year old son - kissing as if they’d done it for years, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Anne felt her eyes brimming with tears because there must have been something she could have done to stop it, but _no_ \- strangely enough, she didn’t want it any other way. Oh, Hannah had been lovely and it had been nice to see Louis doing things normal teenage boys were meant to do - but then, Harry and Louis weren’t normal teenage boys. And they never had been.

_“Cos we’re circles. We’re circles you see. We go round round the sun in and out like the sea. I’ll circle round you, you will circle round me...”_

Harry moaned into Louis’ mouth, gripping him tighter as Louis spun them in lazy circles, never letting his mouth leave Harry’s for a moment. Louis finally slowed, lowering Harry to the floor, tenderly, gently, as if he were something that could break. His eyes were luminous as he looked down at Harry, sucking on his lower lip. “I could have you right here, chick. Wearing only my football jersey and a smile.”

“Please,” Harry nearly sobbed, his hands shaking as he reached up for Louis. Louis pinned his wrists to the rug.

“Not til you’re sixteen, babe. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You won’t hurt me. I want to-”

Louis kissed him gently, nipping at Harry’s lower lip as they separated. “You’re worth waiting for.”

“God, Lou,” Harry squirmed, his hand sliding down between their pressed bodies to rub at the bulge forming at the front of his sweats. “I’m gonna explode.”

Louis smirked as he leaned back, sitting with his thighs on the either sides of Harry’s. “At least wait until you’re in my mouth,” he whispered roughly and then Anne _was_ running. Running until she was in the dark safety of her bedroom, trying and failing to push thoughts of her boys tangled up on the living room rug from her mind.

“Did Louis get home okay?” Mark asked, sleepily from the bed. Anne leaned her back against the closed door, trying to even out her breathing, to get her heart to stop racing.

“Yeah. Safe and sound,” she managed to croak and despite the conflicting tug in her chest, she realized he was. They both were.

***

“You know...Harry’s turning sixteen in three months,” Anne said casually one morning, as she set Mark’s eggs on the table. Mark slid his glasses down and looked at her from over the top of his crossword.

“And Louis’ birthday is next month. What’s your point?”

She laughed. Maybe being round-about wasn’t the best approach with a no-nonsense man like Mark. “I know...just thought. _Sixteen_. He’s gonna be off to Uni soon. And he’s such a good boy. Always has good marks, never gets in trouble. It’d be nice to do something nice for him.”

“What, like a party?” Mark asked, blowing on his coffee to cool it. His glasses fogged with steam and he rubbed at them with his shirt-tail before putting them back on.

“No...Harry’s not showy like that. Besides, he doesn’t have more than a handful of friends. I don’t know who we’d invite.”

Mark contemplated that as he bit into his toast. “We got Louis a car when he turned sixteen.”

Anne sat down next to him with her mug of tea, tracing the lip slowly with her fingertip. “Yeah, but Harry’s not Louis. I doubt if he’d even drive it. He’d much prefer to walk or have Louis drive him.”

Mark shrugged. “So what did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking...neither of the boys have ever been outside of England. It might be nice to give them a little trip, just the two of them.”

“Do you think they’re ready for that?”

“Louis is nearly eighteen. And you know, Uncle Leo’s in Paris. If anything went wrong, they could ring him.”

“Paris, huh?” He stood up and put his arms around her neck, leaning down to kiss her hair.

“Only if you think we can afford it,” she said hurriedly.

“Mmm...I think I have some stock I can cash out. You know...we haven’t had the house to ourselves in...eleven years,” he said, nipping at her ear.

“Has it been that long?” she asked as Mark kissed down her neck.

“I’ve been counting,” he teased.

“So that’s a yes?” she beamed up at him.

He chuckled. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

***

With Louis’ birthday and the holidays in December, Harry’s birthday came up much more quickly than Anne would have liked. Her little boy was growing up and she hadn’t forgotten the night she walked in on them after Louis’ formal and the promise he’d made to wait until Harry was sixteen. It was what made her come up with the trip in the first place, if she were honest. So Louis could give Harry the first time he deserved - so it wouldn’t have to be in the backseat of a car or in their childhood bedroom or in a friend’s basement. So it wouldn’t have to be hurried. She was at least glad that one of them wasn’t a girl so she wouldn’t have to worry about pregnancy. In that, she was lucky, she supposed.

Two weeks before Harry’s birthday, Anne took Louis to the store to pick out a present for him. “Don’t you think he’d like to have a nice camera?” she’d asked as they walked through the electronics department.

“Has he said that?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. But he’s always taking pictures with that phone of his,” she shrugged. “What do you say?”

Louis walked up and down the aisles, examining a few DSLRs with interest, before setting them back down. He stopped in the Point and Shoot section, picking up the most expensive model from the shelf, “This Leica is nice.”

“Yeah. Six hundred pounds nice,” she sniffed, coming up behind him.

“Well you said a nice camera,” Louis rolled his eyes.

Anne paused. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s get it for him. Harry deserves it, don’t you think?”

“Seriously?” Louis pulled her into a crushing hug. “Thanks mum.” And Anne thought she would never tire of hearing that word.

***

Anne and Louis were in the kitchen baking Harry’s cake when he came home from college, dropping his backpack on the floor by the front door. “Mmm, looks good,” he said, running his finger through the icing and sucking it off. 

Louis batted a hand at him. “Go away. Serious official birthday business going on here.”

“Don’t listen to him. Com’mere babe,” Anne held her arms out and Harry ducked down into them for a hug, entirely too tall now for her liking. She stood up on her toes and kissed the side of his head. “Happy Birthday chick.”

Louis joined her in hugging Harry. “Yeah. Happy Birthday chick,” Louis snickered, trying to play it off as a joke, but his arms tightened perceptibly around Harry and Harry nuzzled his face deeper into Anne’s neck in response.

Anne broke up the hug before things could get indecent, swatting Harry’s bum with a dish-towel. “Seriously though. Shoo. Go get cleaned up. Your dad’ll be home soon.”

Dinner was a formally informal affair at the dining room table - they ate tacos off the nice china and wore paper crowns. Louis gave Harry his present after dinner and they all made appreciative sounds over it as Harry excitedly thumbed through the book and tried to sort out what all the buttons were for. “Mum, Dad, this is too much,” he gave them each a hug and kiss.

Anne shook him off. “It was all Louis’ doing. You should thank him.”

Harry shyly walked over to Louis and Louis grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him into a fierce hug. “Thanks Lou,” Harry mumbled into his shoulder. 

Anne cleared her throat and the boys broke apart, Harry’s face red from his neck to his ears. “Your dad and I got you a little something too,” she said, handing him the thick envelope.

“Don’t suppose there’s a car in there,” Louis teased Harry, peering over his shoulder as Harry opened it.

Harry’s mouth dropped open as he stared in disbelief at the plane tickets. “Mum - Dad - _what_?” but he didn’t get to finish before tears rushed into his big green eyes.

“Thought you and Louis could use a little time away from your old mum and dad,” Anne said, grinning.

“But we can’t - can you - can we _afford_ this?” Harry asked, as Louis yanked the tickets from his hand, bouncing excitedly on the couch cushions.

“It’s fine, Harry. Really. Cashed in a bit of stock,” Mark assured him. 

“Paris!” Louis squealed, shaking Harry’s shoulders. “We’re going to Paris.”

Harry’s mouth was still hanging open as he stared disbelievingly at the envelope in his hands, his eyes welling with tears. “And it’s just me...just me and Louis?”

“Just you and Louis. Now the information for your hotel is in there - and train tickets and museum passes and a little spending cash for food and souvenirs. And your Uncle Leo’s mobile number is in there in case you need anything or you get lost or if you just want to meet up for coffee -”

Harry flung himself at Anne, cutting off her prattling with a fierce hug. “Thanks so much.” He hugged Mark in turn and then looked back at Louis.

“It’s really real isn’t it?” he asked Louis, tears still sparkling in his eyes.

“We leave in two days,” Louis sang, grinning like a maniac. “Oh my God, what am I going to wear?” he asked in horror, as the thought struck him and he made a mad dash for the stairs. His head peered sheepishly around the corner a minute later, “Thanks mum and dad.” And then he was pounding up the stairs to his room.

Harry nuzzled into Anne’s side and she couldn’t help but wonder where all the time had gone. It seemed just yesterday Harry and Louis had been little boys and now they were becoming their grown-up selves and she couldn’t have been more proud or sad. Soon, they wouldn’t need her anymore. Maybe, they never had. “Mum. I can’t thank you enough. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. I’m not sure that I deserve -”

“Oh hush. Just make sure you take lots of pictures with your new camera because your dad and I will be expecting a slideshow when you get back.”

***

The house was eerily quiet the week Louis and Harry were in Paris. Anne caught up on laundry and cleaning, but by the third day, she’d run out of things to do around the house and she found herself sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, smelling a sweatshirt of his that had somehow escaped the laundry. Her baby boy, baby _boys_ , she corrected herself, were all grown up.

Anne found herself pulling out Louis and Harry’s baby books from the top of the closet and that was how Mark found her, sitting in Harry’s bed, flipping through the years of their childhood. “Sometimes I think of what it would have been like if I’d never met you,” she said, not looking up as Mark settled in beside her, the twin bed sinking under his weight. “If Harry had never had Lou- What would they have been like?” She shuddered. “I don’t like to think of it much.”

Mark reached over to stroke Anne’s wrist. “We’ve been lucky, haven’t we?”

Anne sighed, resting her head on Mark’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when they both leave for Uni. It’s going to be so quiet.” 

After graduation, Louis had taken a gap year, which had turned into two, and she knew he was waiting for Harry so they could start their new lives together. He was always waiting for Harry to catch up, ever since he was a little boy - walking more slowly so Harry’s little legs could keep pace, holding out a hand for Harry to cross the street, carrying both their backpacks home from school so Harry wouldn’t have to struggle under the weight of his. Louis was working at a dimly lit record shop in town and she knew it wasn’t his dream job or his dream life, but she knew he wouldn’t dare start his dream life without Harry at his side.

“Do you think...do you think they’ve turned out all right?” Anne asked, gazing up at Mark.

“They’ve turned out more than all right. Because they’re ours.” Anne leaned up to kiss him and a crease formed between his eyebrows as he studied her.

“Do you ever think of...trying again? You’re only thirty-seven after all. Might be nice to have a little one around.”

“I never knew you wanted to-”

“I want whatever you want. But it might be nice, when the boys are gone, to hear the patter of little feet around.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he raised an eyebrow, in a gesture that was so like Louis, she melted a bit. She kissed him firmly, imagining another Louis or Harry growing inside her, or maybe even a mix of the two - with Louis’ blue eyes and Harry’s dark curls, with Harry’s dimples and Louis’ short stature. Maybe even a girl this time. 

Anne had never wanted more kids, but with Mark things were different. She knew he was a good dad, she knew that Harry and Louis had turned out to be the kind, considerate, loving young men that they were in part thanks to him. And she wasn’t scared any longer of him leaving, not like in the early years of their marriage, during which she tiptoed around, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for a repeat of her last marriage. Surely, no one’s luck could hold out that long. Of course, maybe it had stopped being luck and started being something else years ago - love or commitment or loyalty. Something like what Louis had with Harry, something that bound them.

“Yeah. Yes. Let’s do it. Let’s make a baby.” She kissed him again and he rolled her onto her back onto the bed, deepening their kiss. When they broke apart, Louis’ stuffed penguin was digging into her side and she was laughing. 

“Just not in here,” she said, putting Harry and Louis’ baby book on the bedside table and closing the cover.

***

Harry and Louis returned from Paris a week later with permanent smiles affixed to their faces and about seven hundred pictures stored on Harry’s memory card. They seemed lighter somehow, cultured and experienced and well-traveled and well... _well-shagged_ , she supposed too, if the way Harry was hobbling up and down the stairs were any indication. 

It was the first taste of a life where not everyone knew them as brothers and they seemed hungry for more. Already, Louis was taking out travel books from the library, putting aside money from his cheque each month, and Harry was talking about maybe taking a gap year so they could go backpacking. Plans formed, a calendar was drawn up, their excited whispers carried to her in the night as they talked about all the places they would go, the things that they would do, together.

Anne missed her period in March and by May, she found herself spending a better portion of her afternoons trolling the Internet for baby furniture and sorting through Louis and Harry’s old baby clothes in the attic. She was doing exactly that when Harry came home one day in the middle of college, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. “Mum?” he called out, sounding for a second like a little boy again. She half-expected five year old Harry to peer around the corner of the door. Her little chick.

“Up here,” she called. “What are you doing home? Not skiving I hope.”

“They let out school early.”

She frowned when she saw his face in the doorway, sadness puckering his chin, pulling his lip into a pout. Harry had never been very good at hiding his emotions - everything he felt he wore on his face. It was why he was such a terrible liar. “Everything okay?”

Anne quickly snapped the box of onesies shut, pushing it aside so Harry could sit. Harry flopped down next to her on the floor, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Dust motes swirled around him in the shafts of light that shuttered in through the high, tiny attic windows, illuminating the outline of his curls and blurring his features into softness.

“Some kid, a kid in Year Ten, killed himself.”

“At school?” she gasped.

“No. Over the weekend.”

“Did you know him?” she asked gently, putting an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry rested his head on hers. It felt heavy.

“Not well. I saw him around some. But - yeah, not well. He was gay,” Harry blurted out. “The other kids - they bullied him quite a bit.”

“That’s awful.”

“Louis used to stick up for him all the time. When the footie guys got on his case. He got in a few fights over it.”

“I didn’t know,” Anne said softly. “But it sounds like Louis. He was always saving you on the playground.”

“Yeah,” Harry bit at the skin of his knuckle the way he did when he was worried or nervous or unsure. “Louis is good like that.”

“Babe, you don’t...you don’t ever think of hurting yourself like that, do you?”

“God no,” he said, aghast that she would suggest it.

“And Louis?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, his curls bouncing. “No he’s never said anything to me.”

“But if anything, if anything were ever bothering you, you’d come to me right? Or Lou or your dad?” she asked, stroking his knee.

“Of course, mum.” Tears glistened in his green eyes, but his chin was stiff, determined not to let them fall.

“Do they - have they ever picked on _you_?”

Harry snorted. “And endure the wrath of Louis Tomlinson?”

She smiled, tucking one of his curls behind his ear. “He takes good care of you.”

“Yeah,” Harry bit his lip. “He does. What are you doing up here anyway?”

“Just sorting through some of your and Louis’ old things.”

“You’re not giving them away, are you?” he asked, pulling a pack of Pokemon trading cards from the nearest box, absent-mindedly flipping through them.

“No. But I thought...you might be willing to share them?”

Harry looked at her quizzically.

“Can you keep a secret?” Harry frowned. “Not from Louis, of course,” she quickly added and Harry smiled again.

“Then yeah.”

“While you and Louis were in Paris...your dad and I...we sort of...we made a baby.”

“You’re pregnant?” Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“Is that okay?” 

“I’m going to be a big brother?” Harry beamed, throwing his arms around her. “Yes. Yes, it’s okay! I can’t wait to tell Lou! Maybe we should put off the trip for a bit-”

“No. No. You two keep your plans. We’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back.”

“I wonder what they’ll look like,” Harry said, pulling out one of Louis’ baby shirts from a nearby box and holding it up to Anne’s stomach.

“I’m hoping a little like the both of you,” she grinned.

“Me too,” Harry’s face burst into a thousand-watt smile. 

Anne paused, watching Harry rummage through his old things. “What was his name?”

“Who?”

“Your friend. The kid. The one who-”

“Jack,” Harry said.

“Jack might be a nice name for a boy, don’t you think?” she asked, reaching over to give his oversized hand a squeeze. She could still remember when his hands had fit in hers - Harry’s hand in one hand and Louis’ in the other. Harry leaned his head against her shoulder with a sigh.

“Yeah. Yeah, it would.”

***

The baby arrived sooner than any of them had expected. Mark had just finished painting the spare bedroom and assembling the crib when Anne went into contractions. 

Gracie-Lou Tomlinson was an autumn baby, with dark hair and a small, squished looking face and little fists that jabbed at the air, punctuating her cries. They all loved her from the very start. Louis and Harry cut their trip short and came home, sun-bronzed and smiling, straight off two months in Australia, with a suitcase full of souvenirs and stories and pictures from their time on the road. 

They were happier than Anne could ever remember seeing them and so she was happy too. It felt right - the sound of their voices behind the closed bedroom door - with the crooked little clay hangings of their names on it. It felt right that Harry would get up with Anne sometimes when she nursed Gracie and fix them both tea and snuggle with her on the couch. Sometimes, Harry would beg her to tell him stories about when he and Louis were little and sometimes he would tell her stories all his own - funny little travel anecdotes about how a monkey stole Louis’ sunglasses in Bali, about how he forgot his passport on a plane in Peru, about how it rained four days straight in Paris and how the sun had looked on the fifth day - shining in rainbow prisms through the glass pyramid of the Louvre.

It felt right that Louis and Harry were there to take Gracie on walks in the afternoons when Anne needed nothing more desperately than a nap. It felt right that Harry insisted on taking a million pictures of Gracie with his Leica, papering an entire wall of their bedroom with her alternately grinning, sleeping and howling face until Louis got jealous and insisted Harry take a few of him. It felt right when she found the three of them all dozing on the couch, Gracie curled up on Harry’s chest, Louis’ hand resting on Harry’s ankle. It felt like a circle had closed somehow. Like their whole lives were falling into place, like something was beginning and ending all at once. When Anne woke in the mornings, it was with a renewed sense of peace - that everything was as it should be. 

But _still_ \- sometimes, she’d pause outside their door and hear Louis and Harry talking in whispers and she knew it wasn’t right to keep them here - that in some ways, their life here was a cage now. How could it be anything else? Yes, they had grown up as brothers, but they were something more now, something they couldn’t be in their small English village and as much as it pained her, she was the one who pulled their suitcases out of the closet the next Spring. Gracie-Lou was six-months old.

“Gracie and your dad and I will be here when you get back,” she insisted.

Louis grinned. “The world can wait a little longer. Actually, Harry and I have made a decision about Uni. We’ve both applied to the Sorbonne in Paris and we got accepted for the fall.”

“Oh Louis, that’s wonderful news,” Anne gushed, drawing them both into a hug.

“Cheers,” Mark nodded in their direction, from where he sat at the kitchen table feeding Gracie her bottle. “We’re finally going to get some peace and quiet in the house.”

Harry smirked, glancing at Gracie, who let out a tiny, sleepy burp. “Not likely, dad.”

“No, not likely at all,” Mark chuckled.

***

Anne and Mark drove the boys to the train-station in early September. It was a beautiful autumn day (so rare in the English countryside) - the mist burning off in the early morning to reveal a sun that filtered in through the tree branches and fell on their faces with patterns like lace. The air was crisp and cool as Harry pushed Gracie’s pram along the platform, Louis and Mark coming up behind with the boy’s trunks. 

Everything felt a bit unreal, like a dream of a life, and Anne thought she’d probably be happy even if it weren’t a beautiful day, because she was with her family and they loved her. And she loved them. 

“All together now,” Harry directed, trying to fit them into the frame of his camera lense.

“Harry you should be in it too,” Louis insisted, panting as he set his trunk down and flopped down on it. 

Harry turned to an elderly couple on a bench nearby. “Would you mind? You just press the shutter here,” he explained to the woman.

She took the camera from him and Harry ran into the shot, grinning with one arm around Louis and the other round Anne. He hurried back to accept the camera, blinking the flash from his eyes. “Such a lovely family,” the woman said, patting him on the back.

Harry snorted when he showed Louis the picture and Louis nearly fell over laughing. “She’s cut our heads off,” he whispered, showing Anne the display, which had captured them all perfectly below the neck. Anne joined in their laughter - so maybe the day wasn’t perfect, maybe the picture hadn’t turned out as they planned, but it was their’s and that was what was important, wasn’t it?

“I’m going to miss you both like crazy,” Anne said, dragging them both in for a hug. “You’ll call every day?”

Louis laughed, but squeezed her tight. “Mum. You’ll see us next month. You all will.”

Anne and Mark had agreed to celebrate Gracie’s first birthday in Paris and it would be Anne and Gracie’s first trip away from England. It was strange that her children were more traveled than she was, Anne mused. Strange, but also right. You always wanted to give your children more than you’d had growing up. 

Harry insisted he would take Gracie on the double-decker carousel by the Eiffel Tower. And Louis said he would fatten her up with chocolate croissants from a little Patisserie they both loved. And it was with the thought of those future happy times in her mind, that Anne was able to let them go.

“That’s us now,” Harry said as their train puffed into the station, trailed by a billowing stream of smoke.

He bent down to give Gracie a final kiss. In Louis’ and Harry’s absence, Gracie was keeping an eye on Louis’ stuffed penguin and Gracie held it out to him now. “Chick,” she burbled happily and they all glanced at her in surprise.

“Did she just-”

“I think she did!” Anne laughed.

“I’m her first word?” Harry beamed, as Gracie pointed at him and shouted “Chick! Chick!” over and over again.

“Don’t let it go to your head, love,” Louis said sourly, slinging an arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him closer until their hips bumped. “She’s obviously got horrid taste. I mean - just look at that tacky unicorn jumper.”

“That jumper was yours,” Anne said, stifling a giggle.

“I never!” Louis yelped indignantly as Harry dragged him, laughingly, backwards toward the tracks.

“We’ll see you in a month!” Harry called as they climbed up the stairs, bumping their trunks along after them.

Anne and Mark waved them off, tears running down their cheeks, even as they smiled. The boys’ faces appeared one last time, in a window near the rear of the train, framed like a photo in a locket. Anne thought, with surprise, as the train left the station and she raised up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun, that she wasn’t worried. She wasn’t worried at all. They would be - they _were_ just fine.


End file.
